


For Your Convenience

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Noctis Lucis Caelum/Ignis Scientia, Modern Royalty, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-01 10:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10920093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Prompto has a problem - his parents have cut him off just in time for rent and the coming semester of college. He could use money, as much as he'll never admit it, and some added benefits wouldn't hurt like the kind married people get.Ignis too has a problem - his twenty-first birthday is coming and he is yet unmarried, an oddity for the Scientia line. He needs a spouse and quick, especially when his mother unceremoniously puts up an ad for him with a marriage brokerage firm.Noctis, of course, has the easy solution for them both. Marry each other.





	1. the shake is a lie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaciart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaciart/gifts).



> I'm sad and going through things. *looks sadly at line up of WIP's* Yeah, so have another?
> 
> And how has this trope not made it into this fandom yet? Goodness.

“So a weird thing happened yesterday,” Noctis says with a too calm voice and suddenly Prompto knows this - all the food, the milkshakes, _all of it -_ is a non-date of _lies._

“Who died,” Prompto demands, shaking the Prince. “It wasn’t Gladdy was it? Or the puppy?” he gasps, horrified. “Oh gods! Tell me it's not the puppy!”

Noctis catches his flailing hands, wide-eyed at the very thought. “No!” he says hastily. “No, nothing like - why do you always jump to conclusions like that?”

“Expect the worst and the best becomes better?” Prompto shrugs then pins Noctis with an accusing look. “But seriously man, this is a set up. What _happened_.”

Noctis at least looks a little contrite at being caught. “I didn’t…” he sighs. “Obviously i need to work on my diplomacy skills,” he says in some distress.

“Diplomacy? Dude, I’m a _pleb,”_ Prompto points out in bewilderment. “You’ve never stood on ceremony with me before. No need to start now. Just _tell_ _me.”_

“Ignis’ mother came to my apartment yesterday,” Noctis says obediently, making a bit of a face at the memory.

“Gods, I hope Ignis cleaned your house,” Prompto laughs and it’s _his_ turn to catch flailing hands. “Sorry, sorry! Go on.”

Noctis huffs. “Anyway, so Lady Scientia comes in and asks to talk to me about… about Specs,” he makes another face, confusion this time. “His twenty-first birthday is coming this February.”

“And… that’s a bad thing?” Prompto isn’t sure where the confusion is coming from.

“Apparently?” Noctis shrugs. “Apparently it’s _tradition_ that all members of the Scientia family are married by then?”

Prompto whistles in sympathy. “That sucks for Ignis. I’ve never met him but I feel for the guy. How is he taking it?”

“Apparently badly,” Noctis leans his head on Prompto’s shoulder, arms crossing. “ _Apparently_ he’s so dedicated to me he’s shirking family duties?”

“Dude,” Prompto frowns in defense of his Prince. “Low blow, man. It’s not like you’re _asking_ Ignis to be your mom friend. He just naturally hovers.”

Noctis nods, face in Prompto’s neck. “She was persistent, though. Had this… this _plan,”_ he scowls. “She put out an ad through the brokerage for him.”

“Oh _man,”_ Prompto is already grabbing his phone, pulling up the site. “You serious right now? You - yup, oh my gods. Here it is!”

It’s terribly cold sounding for a mother. Not that Prompto is a judge of warm mother figures, but… but _still._ “Have you read this?”

“Yeah,” Noctis sits back straight to steal a slurp of Prompto’s shake, even though his own is perfectly full. “And so has Ignis.”

Prompto winces, heart going out to the man. It’s true enough they’ve never officially met, but from all that Noctis tells him, he feels they’re already friends. Ignis is at least a friend Prompto wants to have.

He steals back his milkshake and takes a long, slow slurp, before the dots connect. “Wait a second…” he frowns, shooting a look at the Prince. “You said diplomacy before… what does this have to do with _me?”_

Noctis looks worried now, but steadfast. “Ignis made a deal with her, to give him two weeks to find someone through the brokerage before she starts vetting people for him. If he can’t find someone, he’ll marry who she picks. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that life for him.”

“I don’t either,” Prompto says, though he’s still terribly confused where he fits in this. “Who’s to say the people that want to marry him only want him for his position? Or his family name? Or - or, ah!” he shakes Noctis again. “Or his friendship with you?!”

“Exactly!” Noctis looks more than happy to have someone speaking sense, even if what he says next makes _none_. “Which is why I want _you_ to marry Ignis.”

Prompto punches him, he doesn’t mean to, but it’s a reflex, and Noctis hardly flinches as Prompto’s fist hits his chest. He’s obviously gotten worse from Gladio, because it’s Prompto who howls in pain.

“What! _What?!”_ he shrieks, much to the annoyance of the restaurant patrons. Noctis shushes him and he does quiet a little, shaking out his aching hand and feeling terribly embarrassed. “ _You want me to_ what _now?”_ he hisses.

“No, it’s actually brilliant though?” Noctis is quick to say, back to catching Prompto’s hands. “You wont use him, Prom. You don’t care about class… much,” he amends when Prompto makes a face. “Look, You’re starting college and your… _parents_ aren’t covering the cost, right?”

“Low blow, man,” Prompto’s cheeks puff out. “Remind the pleb of how poor he is.”

“And how freaking _stubborn,”_ Noctis pinches his nose. “You won’t let me pay for it.”

“Because i can do it myself!”

“Exactly my point!” Noctis says, triumphant, and suddenly Prompto knows he’s lost this. “There are scholarships and benefits for married partners. Ignis’ apartment is close to the University.”

“I hate you so much right now,” Prompto decides. “Ignis will hate you too, saddling him with _me - ow!”_

Noctis punches him in the chest and he’s very much better at it. Prompto instantly can’t breathe. “That’s my best friend you’re insulting,” he pinches Prompto’s nose again. “You’d be good for him, okay? You can be friends. I want him to be married to someone who will be a friend to him.”

“But we… we’re so different!” Prompto gasps. “I haven’t even met him and I know this! I’d make him miserable!”

“Not as miserable as a spouse using him would,” Noctis says, a bit smug, and Prompto punches him again.

“Ow!”

“Look, I know what I’m asking here,” Noctis says, stressed, and Prompto hates him more because he _does_ get it, being in an arrangement himself. “I’m not asking you to go in blind. I’m not asking you to fall in love. I’m asking you to help a friend. Answer him in the brokerage, see how it goes. You’ve got two weeks to set boundaries and make rules.”

“Am I even an eligible candidate? I’m not royalty like you two are,” Prompto sighs and moodily sips his shake. “Does he know about your manipulations?”

“Yes and yes,” Noctis says. “He agreed it was the best solution in nothing but bad answers. He doesn’t think you’ll say yes.”

“Well just for that, I think I will,” Prompto growls in challenge.

Not that he doesn’t want to slap that smug look right off his Prince’s face. Fucking _royalty._ “I knew you’d say that.”

“And fuck you very much for it, Your Royal Highend.”

“Love you too, Prom.”

\--

He rereads the ad when he goes home, frowning once more at the chilliness of Lady Scientia’s requests. He does his best to breathe and prays that it is, in fact, Ignis seeing his answer and not her. He suddenly wonders if she even _knows._ Probably not.

He finds some humor in the knowledge that he’d at least be a way for Ignis to stick it to the man, as it were. In that sense, he is more than happy to help.

So he cracks his knuckles and gets to writing, hoping he sounds professional and not hyper.

 

_Young Lord Ignis Scientia -_

 

He frowns. Is that even the right title for the man? Prompto tilts his head, considering, and shrugs. Oh well, it’d work for now. Moving on.

 

_Young Lord Ignis Scientia,_

_My name is Prompto - His Royal Highness probably cries about me all the time, as I am his best friend and I get him into enough trouble to make him cry -- well, i suppose you’d have heard of me regardless. He informed me of your… problem (?) at lunch today. He said you were amiable to the idea of me marrying you and that you didn’t think I’d agree._

_While I admit I’m… okay, I’m totally freaking out? I’m not even eighteen. Yesterday my only worry was getting a scholarship, since my parents have deemed their parental duty to me basically over now that I’ve graduated school. Not that I mind, I guess. I owe them, and they’re my parents? Can’t really blame them for not wanting to waste more money on me but --- Sorry, not the point._

_Marriage is… well it’s scary. But, Noct made it sound like something helpful? He’s so worried about you, Mr. Lord Ignis, or whatever your title is. He doesn’t want you stuck with someone who’ll use you, and I have to agree. I know we haven’t met, but I feel like i know you enough given he talks about you all the time. He always complains that you mother him, but he’s so fond about it too. Someone who Noctis cares about this much is important. I know that much._

_So… yeah, I guess this is me saying yes? Warning - I’m no royal, so I’ll most likely embarrass the hell out of you. But I’m willing to help, and I clean up after myself. I can cook for myself and take care of my own things so if you never want to see me then I can make it work. I’ll be honest - the benefits married people would really help me with this coming semester of college. And there are extra scholarships for newlyweds. I’m officially cut off and I’ll be losing my apartment soon. Noct says I could live with you, but if you don’t want me to, I can move in with him. So don’t feel obligated to say yes on that account._

_You’ve got two weeks, right? Well, here I am. Noct says you like working things through and I’d appreciate knowing the ends and outs of what marrying you would mean? I’m sure it’s a lot given you’re a Lord (????) whatever that means. Not royal here. Sorry. But thankfully we’ve got two weeks to hammer out a marriage deal, so let’s make it count._

_And if you don’t like me, well, sorry? I guess ignore this. And good luck!_

_-Prompto_

 

He considers this all before sending, rereading, and smiles. Maybe not as professional as he’d hoped, but it sounds like him. And he figures if he’s going to marry Ignis, the man can only benefit getting a crash course on his brand of crazy.

So he sends it, and laughs, and very much tries not to panic.

He succeeds. Mostly.

(Not really.)


	2. have some truth tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm blown away by the sheer enthusiasm that greeted me for the first chapter. You all sure know how to cheer up an author :} Thus, take this chapter early!
> 
> Cheer, babes~

It’s two days later and he’s still uncertain how to respond. He’s surprised, off kilter, and more than a little ashamed of himself and his rather pitiful situation. Even Noctis’ glaring looks have done little but make the feelings worse, especially when his dear Prince forgoes talking to him completely until he answers, as though that will spur him into quicker action.

 It’s irrational, of course, but sadly effective. He _hates_ being on the receiving end of cold shoulders, especially when it’s Noct’s. Something he fears Noctis is far too keenly aware of.

 _“He thinks you don’t like him!”_ was the last thing Noctis had deigned to speak to him and that was a day ago. Another irrationality, one Ignis is having more trouble than he cares to admit deciphering. How could a young man he’d never met take his opinion so _seriously_ ? How is he, in the long term of things, _anything_ to Prompto Argentum?

Not that he doesn’t like Prompto - he finds Noctis’ best friend a positive influence, all things considered. Prompto is good for Noct, perhaps even _great._ He’d reached out to be Noctis’ friend when all others had been to scared to try, after all.

And that letter… did it not only speak to a determined soul, a compassionate heart? There was room for improvement in regards to proper address and mannerisms, true, but Prompto’s insecurity, coupled with confidence, coupled with genuine _care_ had thrown him into this current state of distress for how _here I am, take it or leave it_ it all had been. Such a rarity when one only deals with the privileged. It should be easy to reply, easy to choose him. For Prompto is, by far, his best and most logical choice as circumstances stand.

Ignis just wishes it didn’t _vex_ him so.

“You look truly rattled, my dear,” says his grandmother, the current matriarch of the Scientia line and his trusted confidant in times of stress. She’d been his only advocate outside of Noctis and Gladiolus, helping broker some time to regain some of the control his mother had ripped away. Ignis had never _not_ been in control of his life, not since becoming Adviser to the Crown Prince. It is more than uncomfortable to feel so afloat now.

Something she knows probably better than he. She’d been the one to set Ignis’ life course, introduced him to Noctis. Perhaps it hadn’t been a choice, but she’d _made_ it one. Let him choose. He’d wanted to protect Noctis always and had chosen him happily. Never mind it was exactly as planned.

Never mind that everything Ignis had ever done after that day had been, of course, _according to plan._

“His Highness spoke of a taker?” she goes on when he just sits there dumbly, adrift, and reaches a small, wrinkled hand for his. Somehow, her hands are always warm, just as his are always cold, and her smile is wise as much as it is gentle. “What is holding you back, love?”

“I am ashamed of myself,” he breathes, unable to _not_ speak when bidden by her. It is the power of a grandma, he supposes. “That it took Mother to drastic lengths to set me back on course…”

“Your mother has always taken to drastic measures,” she chuckles, patting his hand lovingly. “She was just waiting for the opportunity, trust me.”

Ignis sighs, knowing she is right, but unable to keep the bitter feelings at bay. “I was careless,” he says, desperate for some responsibility owed him for this absolute mess. “I do believe I am the first Scientia heir in five generations to nearly miss the deadline.”

“And why wouldn’t you?” she laughs. “Times are changing, my dearest love. Who knows? By the time you send _your_ heir to the new young Prince, he may never need to know this stress.”

She sips her tea and Ignis stays quiet, pondering that. She pats his hand again.

“Besides, why think of marriage when you’re in love already?” Her voice is soft, terribly soft, but it goes through him sharper than any blade. Noctis’ smile is in his mind before he can push it away, his laugh, his deep, far too feeling eyes. And his lungs constrict as though his Prince is there in her place, sleepy and content in his presence… and wholly ignorant to how effortlessly he steals Ignis’ breath.

“Have I truly been so see through?” he murmurs, almost afraid of the answer. She shakes her head, to his relief, and he squeezes her fingers in gratitude.

“If you weren’t so much like your father,” she says, humming a little. “You hide it well, sweet one, but not from me. Or your mother, for that matter. She is so worried for you, loving a man you cannot be with.”

He knows this, as surely as the sun will rise tomorrow, and rise forevermore. Still, it hurts, a dull pain in his chest that throbs like a bruise, bone deep and _aching._

“You carry so much,” she despairs for him as something in his face crumples, cupping his hand in hers. His hand is bigger than both of hers combined, but he feels so, so small. “If only i could lift the burden this family makes you carry.”

“If only,” he whispered, smiling at their old exchange. _If only, if only, as the butterfly flies, to be as free as a bird in the blue endless skies…_ “But still, I should not have lost myself in this… I have a responsibility to this family. To mother. To you.”

She sighs, but nods, and understanding settles between them like too hot air. “Yes,” she squeezes his hand and returns to her tea, sipping and sipping as her thoughts collect.

“Business then,” she says the moment he touches his own cup to his lips. “Tell me about the gentleman our Prince has picked for you.”

Ignis just hands her his tablet in answer, already open to Prompto’s letter. He waits, oddly anxious, as she reads. For some reason he cannot fathom, he needs her to accept Prompto, to accept this _choice._ It matters more than anything the past few days have spewed up.

She doesn’t disappoint.

“Oh goodness!” she gushes, a hand to her cheek. “What a charming young man! He tried to sound so professional but - oh my,” she giggles, like she is a schoolgirl all over again, and it does wonders for Ignis’ sinking heart. Lifts it, puts hope in him again.

“I take it you approve?”

“ _Approve_ , he says! If I was fifty years younger _I’d_ snatch him right up!” she hands him back the tablet. “Lots of potential there, my darling. You could do much worse.”

“He is common,” Ignis feels the need to remind her. “There will be some who disapprove the match.”

“Good!” she says and he has to laugh at how positively mischievous she looks. “Court has gotten far too stuffy! We could use a sunshine boy to liven up the place!”

And just like that, it’s settled.

\---

 _Mr. Prompto Argentum,_ he writes later, after his grandmother has left him smiling and warm with determination, _I wish to thank you for agreeing to this… regrettably odd request. I understand full well what you are giving up, just as I understand the burden that you will be taking on as my husband._

 

He pauses to shiver, because that is not a title he ever thought he’d give to… well. To someone not Noctis. He allows the pain to come, breathes, pushes it away. Starts typing again.

 

_I fear you do not, however, understand what being a Scientia will mean. Not that I doubt your intelligence - His Royal Highness has indeed regaled me with many a tale of your adventures together - but I worry that you will agree to this without considering every consequence simply because you want to be helpful and accommodating. I do not wish to answer such kindness with harsh reality._

_My family is… very old, you see. As the Amicita clan has always been the sworn Shields of the Royal Lucian line, so the Scientia family has always been called to advise. We are an unbroken chain dating back to the first king of Lucis, dedicating our very lives as deeply as any Shield. Marrying you already puts that line in danger, for we cannot make heirs. Given my own… inclinations, however, I cannot find it in myself to fully care._

_But still, my life belongs to Noctis. Revolves around him. He is my friend as much as he is my livelihood. To marry me is to marry that aspect of my life. I cannot erase it; it will always be there. It will be me, it will be you, but it will also be Noctis._

_And perhaps that does not bother you. This is a business arrangement, a marriage of convenience as it were. You are helping me and in turn I will help you as much as I am able. You love Noctis, I am sure, just as I do. You seem the loyal kind of friend I would not mind knowing - nor indeed, to marry._

_Loyalty is everything to a Scientia. You have Noctis’ complete trust. And if he trusts you, then I must trust you as well. You have never used him, never asked for anything but friendship - you have been a great light in his life, a normalcy he would otherwise lack. I’ll admit to being jealous of that, for I cannot give him such things, but then perhaps that is why he paired us, so easily. Together, we can stand behind him. My name can give you position, and maybe you do not care for that, but it will allow you to be closer to the Prince we hold both so dear. Perhaps that can be an incentive for you as it surely is for me. A partner to help me watch over him is something i cannot disagree with._

_I simply… worry, I suppose. And how odd it is to worry for you when we’ve never met. I do not want to be a regret. I want you to know what you’re walking into. As you are, you are free to live as you like. While I will work to make your dreams a reality if I can, you will nonetheless be shackled by duty - to the family, to me, and to Noctis._

_Please think on this, Prompto. Think on it hard. I thank you for offering to help, but I would rather be stuck with someone my mother chooses then watch you slowly disappear into the demands of being by my side. It will not be an easy road, but I hope we can make it our own. My duty is to Noctis, but as your husband, it will be to you as well. I will do my best to be all you need should you choose to accept me._

_If not, I wholly understand, and I thank you for trying._

_Much gratitude,_

_Lord Ignis Scientia_

 

Ignis rereads it, then again, then sends it along. He sits to breathe, pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes in stress. Then he moves to shower and ready himself for bed, not hopeful for an answer. After all, he’d begged Prompto to think on it. He just prays the young man will.

His own words echo in his mind as he stands under the shower spray, in perfect cadence to his heart. His chest is one solid ache as he thinks of Noctis and lets that dream slip away just that much more.

He’s bleary eyed and soft with the hot water when he goes to bed. It’s habit that he checks his tablet for a stray email and is shocked to find one in there. From the brokerage.

 _I accept,_ Prompto says, and somehow Ignis suddenly knows he’s just met the most stubborn being in all of Lucis. _When do we start?_

He laughs, he can’t help it, full and incredulous and painful. Leaning back against his pillows, he traces Prompto’s name, shakes his head in awe and a bit of exasperation.

So much for thinking on it, he muses and sends a reply, bracing himself for this new change, this new orbit he will have to fall into. He wonders if he’s ready, if he even _can._

If not, well. Too late now.

_(Always too late.)_


	3. a bit of puppy love

Of course, the day his life is pretty much changing forever, it’s bright and sunny and  _ happy.  _ The birds are singing as he starts his run with Umbra in tow and when he breathes in the crisp morning air, he decides to take it as a good omen. Might as well, right? Good vibes, good vibes.

He runs through the park so that even sweaty and hot by the time he reaches the cafe, he mostly smells of his deodorant and grass and summer green. He takes an outside seat, well in view of the parking lot, and asks a passing waiter for a bowl to put water in for Umbra.

The dog happily drinks while Prompto tries to straighten himself out, though it’s mostly pointless. He’s windswept and glistening, his tank top slightly damp. He made sure to wear his black one so at least the sweat stains weren’t visible. He’s already going to look a mess for this first meeting, no need to make it  _ worse. _

“What do you think, huh?” Prompto asks Umbra after the fifth time of worriedly combing his hair with his fingers. The feathery blond strands frame his face in a way he hopes looks nice, rather than just like he needs a haircut. “Think I have a chance? Or are we fucked?”

Umbra nuzzles into his lap, pink tongue lolling. Prompto laughs a little and musses his face, grateful Noctis had let Prompto borrow him for the day. Not only is he a perfect calling card for Ignis to find him, given the young Adviser apparently knows Umbra personally, but he’s also a buffer for Prompto’s nerves. He has a terrible habit of twitching when he’s nervous. At least this way he can hide the shake of his hands by petting the dog. Something Umbra clearly doesn’t seem to mind.

It’s five minutes waiting when Umbra sees him. Ignis, Prompto has to guess, given the way the dog yips happily and wags his tail, pulling on the leash. Dark blond, glasses, a fine suit and even finer body… yup, definitely Lord Scientia. Prompto’s mouth goes dry as he quickly stands, feeling so very under dressed in his tank top and running sweats.

But if Ignis minds it, he doesn’t show it. He takes his hand with an almost smile and Prompto’s first real thought about the man that will be his husband is that he has cold hands. But not a bad cold; it’s somewhat soothing, especially with the nervous heat in his own fingers. Ignis’ hands are large, fingers slim, but filled with strength. He squeezes Prompto’s hand once before letting go like it’s a habit.

The second thought is much more nicer: Ignis has green eyes. Green like spring leaves, drunk on light. And there’s a kindness in them that has Prompto at ease instantly, even when he belatedly remembers just  _ who  _ Ignis is and things like  _ status  _ and  _ manners  _ flood his brain. They’re the kind of eyes you fall into, and maybe if he wasn’t suddenly panicking, he might have.

Maybe if he  _ had _ , he could’ve said something clever and romantic.

Instead, the first thing he says in person to Ignis is: “Oh fuckshit, should i be like,  _ bowing?  _ I feel like I should be bowing.” Because of course his mouth can’t work well under stress. Gods damn it.

At least Ignis looks… well,  _ amused _ is maybe a little strong, but certainly surprised, and maybe a little entertained at Prompto’s panic. Better than the disgust Prompto was expecting.

“No bowing necessary,” his says, and his voice may just be the best thing Prompto’s ever heard. Rich, cultured,  _ accented.  _ Prompto very nearly wants to swoon. Perhaps one day, he thinks with something close to  _ excitement,  _ he will, when they know one another better. If he’s chosen, of course.

Prompto sits when Ignis gestures and takes the seat across from him, watching as Umbra nuzzles the man’s pocket. Ignis pulls out a treat like it’s nothing and Prompto is instantly, utterly charmed. Because it would be  _ his  _ Royal husband-to-be that walks around with  _ dog treats in his pockets  _ like some kind of fairy tale princess. Prompto can’t stop a laugh at that visual.

“Sorry,” he says instantly, giggling, and despite the questioning eyebrow he gets he shakes his head, not about to tell  _ Lord Ignis Scientia _ he’d just imagined him in a  _ dress.  _ “I just… wasn’t expecting that. But then I probably should have, you did tell me you knew Umbra, and you knew I was bringing him today.”

He pats his leg and Umbra comes over, mussing into his lap. The dog sits and his curly tail wraps around his little feet, big eyes on Prompto demanding more pets. Prompto gives them gladly.

He gets a few blessed minutes to compose himself as the waitress comes over for their orders. It’s a simple place, not terribly fancy, but Prompto is still pleasantly surprised when Ignis gets a burger with fries. He orders the same, but with a salad, and giggles a little at the surprise he gets in turn.

“Runner,” he answers the silent question. “I mean, I love fries, but I ran a little extra today. I don’t want to erase  _ all  _ my hard work.”

“Indeed,” Ignis hums and Prompto maybe sighs a little like a doe eyed maiden. He kicks himself, a terrible idea, because he does it too hard and  _ yelps,  _ and turns beet red when Ignis gives him that eyebrow again.

“Sorry, I’m just… super nervous right now?” Prompto tries for a laugh. “And, funnily enough, not even about the marriage stuff?”

Ignis tilts his head, frowning in confusion, and it’s definitely one of the most endearing things he’s ever seen. Fuck.

He chuckles, voice a little shaky. “I mean, I am worried about that but, right now I’m more worried about you not liking me. You’re so important to Gladdy and Noct. I just… I want to be friends,” he goes with, because it’s true enough. “If you decide on someone else, I still want to be friends. In all honesty, I can’t believe we’ve never met until now?”

“Hm, agreed,” Ignis says and there’s more than a hint of a smile in his mouth that time, hidden in the corner. “I wish for that as well.”

Prompto finds an extra breath he didn’t know he needed. “Yeah?” he’s practically buzzing, beaming ear to ear. “Well good. It’s always the smart move to be accepted by the infamous mom friend,” he teases.

Ignis sighs, but it’s fond. “Mom friend,” he shakes his head. “I suppose Noctis would think that of me.”

“He loves it, don’t worry,” Prompto assures him, then smiles as the waitress brings their food. He bites into his burger with a happy moan.

Ignis is far more quiet, eating steadily, face composed, giving nothing away. Prompto’s eyes flicker to that lovely shade of green Ignis’ irises are and smiles, hoping he’s not imagining the pleased gleam he sees.

“I told you their burgers were great,” Prompto laughs, wiping his hands on the napkin with no small amount of relief. Ignis had requested to meet, but Prompto had been in charge of picking a place that was close to them both. It hadn’t hit him until afterwards about the absurdity of taking  _ Royalty  _ to a burger joint. Knowing Ignis may just be enjoying the food is a boost of confidence.

“Not bad at all,” Ignis praises and nibbles on a fry, like it’s some expensive pastry. Prompto’s biting his lips again to keep from giggling at the visual. Fry donuts, could you just  _ imagine _ ?

There’s a few minutes of quiet as they get through a good portion of food. Prompto uses the time to build up his courage against a punch of nerves. Ignis is… well, he’s  _ devastating  _ up close. Prompto figured he would have to be handsome but  _ Gods…  _ how is falling in love with him  _ not  _ on the table?

He almost wants to ask it, but chickens out. Instead he smiles. “So… think you could give me a rundown of what being your husband will mean?” he asks, stabbing his salad with a fork to hide his nervous fingers. “I mean, you implied a lot in your letter. And again, pleb here. The extent of my experience with anything Royal was throwing Noct a birthday at the summer palace, and even then I was told it was pretty informal, so.”

Ignis nods, patting his mouth with a napkin before pulling out a bundle of papers artfully clipped together with a rather expensive looking bird pin. “I’ve detailed it for you,” he says, handing it over to Prompto. He tries not to instantly cry at the sheer  _ weight  _ of it. “Mostly how to deal with the Court. That’ll be the stickiest situation for you,” Ignis says with something akin to reassurance and that really should not be as comforting as it is.

Prompto flips through the pages, surprised to find they are highlighted and underlined for him already. He grins at the  _ titles  _ section and gives about half of it a cursory look. “Hey, thank you!” he says with a huge grin. “I mean, I’m terrible at studying for school, but this is like a survival manual? I think I’ll be able to make it stick.”

“I will, of course, help you along the way,” Ignis says and Prompto’s toes curl pleasantly in his shoes.

“Does this mean… I’m in?” he asks, fighting not to sound too excited. He doesn’t even know why he  _ is.  _ But there’s bubbles and butterflies in his stomach and shivers down his spine. It feels… well, it feels like a prank. A great game that he’s a part of. And that somehow he’s  _ winning,  _ even though it’s just started.

“I would say so,” Ignis says, like it was never in doubt. Prompto squeals a little. Manly squeals.

“If you’re sure?” he laughs, patting Umbra when the dog sets his chin on Prompto’s lap and sighs. “I mean, do you think you can find husband material in  _ this _ mess?” He gestures to himself.

Ignis’ eyes track his hands, calculating, sizing him up. He’s nodding before Prompto can properly start panicking again. “Yes, I do believe so. As long as you remain aware of what you’re getting into. I’ll teach you all I can before the wedding, which should give you time to decide for yourself if you want to keep going or not.”

“How long will that be?” Prompto asks.

“My mother wishes it to be soon, within the month if possible. I assumed you would have no objections, given it would fall within the time allowed for scholarship applications and college registration.”

Prompto blinks, the spike of surprise fading into something warm at how considerate that was. Logical - Noct had warned him Ignis was a  _ thinker  _ more than a  _ feeler -  _ but still considerate.

“What a good husband, considering me in his plans!” he coos with maybe a little actual swooning, not that Ignis ever has to know. As it stands, he gets even more of a smile for it and something in Prompto  _ soars.  _ “I’m guessing it’s gonna be a big wedding? With you being a Royal and all.”

“Larger than I’m sure you’re used to,” Ignis says, “but not as large as, say, Noct’s will be. Mostly, it will be the Court, family, and friends.”

Prompto pauses a little at  _ family  _ and wonders if his parents would come. Probably not, with their tight schedules and traveling. Still, thinking of sending them an invitation makes him smile, hoping they’ll be proud in his choice of mate at the very least.

“So I can have Noct be my best man?” he laughs, giddy at the prospect. “Awesome.”

“Best man, no,” Ignis huffs, something that almost sounds like a chuckle. “His Majesty will be marrying us, and as the future king, Noctis and the Lady Lunafreya will preside over the ceremony.”

“Wait…  _ what,”  _ Prompto squeaks in alarm. “The  _ King  _ is marrying  _ us?” _

“Yes,” Ignis’ voice is back to soothing. “As is custom.”

“Yeah, I mean, I guess I should’ve figured that?” Prompto’s voice is about an octave too high. He clears his throat in embarrassment, eyes glancing away. “Still it’s a bit - … oh for the love of the  _ Gods,”  _ he snorts, then giggles. “They did  _ not!” _

“Prompto?” Ignis questions, looking thoroughly lost. Not that Prompto can blame him.

Keeping cool, Prompto pulls out his phone and opens the camera, handing it to Ignis as though sharing a text. “Use this to look over your shoulder. Five tables down, red ball caps.”

Ignis seems to get the gist even before he does as asked, sighing in fond exasperation. “What are they doing?”

“Spying on us!” Prompto giggles. “In terrible disguises no less. Like I don’t recognize the hat I bought him!”

“And Gladiolus is hardly fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” Ignis huffs, handing Prompto back his phone. “I suppose they would want to see if we got along.”

“Gossiping scuttlebutts, more like,” Prompto laughs, taking a picture of Noctis and Gladio hunched together at their table, not so subtly peeking over their menus. “Man, but they’re perfect for each other, aren’t they? I mean, it took Noct  _ forever  _ to admit he liked Gladio like that, but looking at this? Like how did he think it would be hard?”

Something flickers across Ignis’ face, quick as winking, something a lot like heartbreak and pain before it settles into a sweet smile. “Yes, that was a bit of a headache,” he says softly. “I suppose you got Noct’s side of things? Well, I got mostly Gladio’s. Watching him struggle with duty and heart was rather trying.”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ The pieces fall into place with painful clarity, coloring the moment in gray. And suddenly he understands why love is not required here, and that it may never be. Prompto’s heart aches, sinking somewhere into his gut.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, getting the eyebrow again. “I just… I didn’t know you were in love with Noct. Or Gladdy? I’m not sure which one?” he bites his lip. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I…” Ignis doesn’t hide his surprise that time, mouth slightly open. “That is not something I generally allow people to see,” he says, sounding a tiny bit stressed. “I fear I am slipping…”

“No! No, nothing like that!” Prompto flails in his haste to reassure him, giving him an earnest smile. “Seriously, I’m a photographer. I’ve learned how to read people’s eyes! It’s nothing you gave away, I promise. I just… hm, i guess I know where to look?” he laughs awkwardly. “Gods, that sounds terrible, I’m sorry.”

“That’s… rather impressive actually,” Ignis allows, nodding in respect. “And a good talent to have, especially in the Courts.”

Prompto smiles at him and tucks his phone away, returning to his salad. Ignis watches him quietly a few breaths, then gives him a quiet, “and it’s Noctis.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto says, truly meaning it. Falling in love with a Prince with both a fiance and lover is hardly a happy situation. Coupled with all the stories Noct has told him over the years of Ignis, his devotion, his kindness, his loyalty… his heart goes out to the man.

“It’s a dream, and a hopeless one,” Ignis pushes it aside firmly. “It will not come between us.”

“That’s not…” Prompto gives a soft laugh. “Ignis, I don’t mind. We’re not a love match. We’re… hopefully on our way to being friends,” he grins. “That’s all I’m asking for. We’ll be married, so we’ll be partners. You can’t help you love, and I’m not going to monopolize your heart when it was never on the table.”

Ignis again looks surprised at his understanding and ducks his head. “You are far wiser than you give yourself credit for Prompto.”

“Doubtful, but thank you,” Prompto’s cheeks go rosy and he stuffs a forkful of salad into his mouth before he embarrasses himself. His eyes flicker to where Noctis and Gladio are and snickers again. “Should we wave at them? Or let them keep thinking they’re fooling us?”

Ignis hums in thought, back to amused. It looks very good on him. “Let them have this moment. They’re doing it for a good reason, after all.”

Prompto nods and musses Umbra’s face between his hands. “Gonna tease them relentlessly about it later though,” he laughs in promise, grinning wide.

Ignis smiles back and Prompto’s heart flutters a little again, a hopeless feeling, but a warm one. After all, it’s not terrible to crush on his own betrothed, right? Right.

“As will I,” Ignis says, and it’s really the best thing how suddenly  _ mischievous  _ he looks. Prompto smiles huge at him.

“You know, I think we’re gonna do just fine,” he tells him, all confidence. “You and me, keeping an eye on our idiot Prince and Shield.” He raises a fist for a bump. “Here’s hoping I don’t disappoint you, Ignis.”

The man studies him a moment before raising a fist too, gently bumping his over the table. “I’m beginning to doubt that’s possible, Prompto,” he murmurs, earnest, eyes a little awed behind his glasses. “The best of luck to us both.”

Prompto grins, laughs, pressing more against Ignis’ fist. “We make our own luck.”

_ (And so they do.) _


	4. in and out of step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmCnQDUSO4I

The progress they make in two weeks is rather astonishing. Not that he had doubted Prompto, nor his intelligence, but _Prompto_ had doubted Prompto and in Ignis’ experiences with young upstarts in the Court, such low self opinions usually lead to trouble.

Ignis, of course, had quickly found that direct compliments bolstered Prompto’s confidence so as to succeed just enough to want to try again, but not so much he became flustered. A hard line to learn, that, though it had been rather entertaining to watch Prompto flush so spectacularly over a compliment as simple as _very well done_ in regards to not falling on his face during a bow. It is a bit troubling, that Prompto takes each compliment with more surprise than Ignis expects him to, as though he’s never been praised his whole life. And by the way Prompto artfully dodges each mention of his parents, Ignis is starting to suspect this assumption is true.

And that is just a bundle of new feelings he’s still trying to parse through. An enterprise made slightly difficult as Prompto moves into his life more and more with each passing day. They meet at the Palace in the mornings for studies, then break for lunch, so that Ignis can keep up with his job helping Noctis. After dinner, however, his orbit is fixed back onto Prompto so they can tackle the physical aspects of Court life: bowing, standing, sitting, and dancing.

Ignis had laid the plans out very carefully as he gathered more knowledge on how Prompto reacted to new things. He started as simply as possible, using Prompto’s successes to give momentum to his determination for the next. On and on, and so forth, never moving on until Prompto was fully comfortable with all he’d learned.

They’d begun dancing a week in and Ignis has never been more pleased with himself having approached it the way he had. Prompto had worried about _bowing,_ of all things. Proving to Prompto that he could pull off a perfect bow, a perfect stance, a perfect wave, a perfect posture while sitting… Prompto truly is the sunshine his grandmother had surmised. He seemed to brighten with every accomplishment and now, as they go through their waltz yet again, his young husband to be is downright _radiant_ with confidence.

“And how does one address the King’s Shield in Court?” Ignis tests him as they move through the practiced steps. He is leading, for now, to music that Prompto had chosen from the repertoire of classical waltz Ignis had provided, and it’s still amusing that Prompto had chosen the very waltz that should not have been in there. But his reasoning had been too sound to argue, a simple, shy, _but it sounds like us, doesn’t it,_ that Ignis couldn’t deny.

They’re already against the grain, after all. Thus, he will have Shostakovich instead of Strauss for his marriage dance, ignoring this Season’s _music of influence_ in favor of music chosen on a whim by his husband to be, who admitted he knew next to nothing of classical music, but could still hear a waltz and decide it was _theirs_. He is a puzzle, that way, interesting and so wholly unexpected, Ignis is beginning to wonder if he will ever figure him out.

Given Prompto hardly follows logic the way he does, it’s very unlikely.

Now as they sweep through the grand music, Prompto chances a quick look down at his feet and Ignis _tsks,_ gently asking his question again, until Prompto’s slightly wide eyes are back on him, as blue as a sunny sky, framed by sunshine hair and kissed with marks across his nose and cheeks.

“Ser Clarus,” Prompto licks his lips, beaming when Ignis nods. “And Ser Gladiolus, even though I’m positive he’ll punch me for calling him that.”

“In his mind, perhaps,” Ignis allows with some amusement, unable to stop a tiny smile from the visual of Gladio pouting, the way he always seems to when his proper address is used in Court. “But he will not be able to given your position and his reputation.”

“Screw his reputation,” Prompto laughs, free, filling the hall with the music in a way that makes Ignis want to stop breathing a moment so as not to taint the sound, “he’s scary when he wants to be. If he wanted to punch me, he would, and he’d be well known for being scary enough to do it! Lord or not!”

They gently part in the place they’d agreed, dancing a soft, quick circle around one another, before coming together again, this time with Prompto holding Ignis, and he steps in on cue gamely, if a bit stiff still. Ignis is not worried; they’ve another week to iron this performance out. And he’d rather have Prompto confident and stiff, then shy and stumbling.

“You’re right, that does sound like him,” Ignis says as he’s grandly danced around the studio. It is still a bit of a surprise, how wonderfully Prompto actually is at leading. It had been a mistake, to be sure, that they put this switch into the dance at all, a moment where Prompto had taken initiative to fix his own steps and by accident had switched to leading. But his steps had been flawless, if a bit halting, and Ignis had been thoroughly impressed. Impressed enough to keep the switch in, liking what it, perhaps, said about _them._ Ignis leading him into this life, Prompto leading him into a new world as his husband. As equals. As friends. On the same footing, one after another, one leading, one following, but switching off.

It’s a partnership Ignis hadn’t dared _dream_ of having. But here it is, stubbornly there, and he finds himself relieved, more than he ought.

“What title do you use for your grandmother-in-law?” Ignis says, just as the music moves into a familiar section and Prompto’s face screws up on cue, laughter in every inch of him. Ignis sighs in defeat just as Prompto _laughs_ in time to the low beat of trombone, never mind he’s heard it countless times since he started learning waltz.

“I’m sorry!” Prompto giggles, managing to dance despite the way he’s quaking with laughter. Ignis will never tell him, but his dancing is _wonderful_ when he laughs, easy and natural, no halting, no second guessing. Just Prompto. Just them. “It sounds like cartoon music! Like we’re dancing to a cartoon!”

Ignis chuckles, unable to help it when Prompto looks so earnest about it, his sunshine countenance truly warm and infectious. Ignis can’t remember a time in his life he’d ever smiled so much for one single person that wasn’t family or Noctis. It feels… good, almost. Free.

“Shostakovich is hardly cartoon, Prompto,” he says, in the voice he uses for teaching, but this doesn’t lessen the effect of the music whatsoever. Because of course it doesn’t.

Prompto’s head thunks onto his chest and he’s a giggling mess. Somehow they’re still dancing, though it’s terribly out of line from where they should be. Not that Prompto seems to care. His footwork has never been better and Ignis has never felt lighter about an upcoming life changing event that will be tying his life forever to yet another person. Only this time, his mind states with something like _contentment,_ this time he gets to _choose._

And really, it’s terribly easy to choose Prompto, for all he is ridiculous and flails too much. He is earnest and loyal and every bit as sincere as that first letter made him sound. After spending the last two weeks training him - and even before, when they first met, when he saw that tremulous smile the very first time and felt something in him _fly_ in awe - Ignis is reaching a point where he can’t see anyone else here, in Prompto’s place. For, truly, it is _his_ place. He’s claimed it as stubbornly as he rose to the occasion. Such conviction mingled with such low opinion of himself… Ignis is as worried as he is charmed. He only hopes this marriage will benefit Prompto’s confidence instead of shattering it.

The dance comes to a grand end, two down beats that they bow to in time. Then they’re simply gazing at each other, satisfied with the round of waltzing.

Prompto is a bit pink and flushed, breathing hard from laughter and from having danced the past two hours. Ignis takes his hand before Prompto can ask if they’re going again, and simply shakes his head, squeezing Prompto’s sweaty fingers.

“Very well done,” he praises, unable to keep from staring at the way Prompto brightens. No one should look at Ignis that way, for something so simple; he’s had to earn everything, every praise. Why does this young man give it so freely? And why does it feel so _good?_ “You’ll be a match to Noctis by the time the week is up. I daresay you’ll never have a shortage of noble ladies and men that wish to dance with you.”

Prompto makes a face at that, huffs a soft laugh. “No thank you,” he says, moving to the CD player to stop it, cutting _The Blue Danube_ off on a high note. “Full offense, but you’re the only one I want to dance with. Anyone else I’d just go to pieces, I think.”

It’s terribly startling how that simple statement lights something in him up. Something bordering on _possessive_. He squashes it quickly so as not to analyse the sudden, inexplicable feeling, keeping a cool expression. “Give yourself more credit, Prompto,” he murmurs, retrieving his CD from the player. “You are a fine dancer.”

“I know one waltz,” Prompto points out, chuckling. “The rest of my dancing experience is clubs, and you already gave me the face - yeah, that face!” And he’s back to peals of laughter.

Ignis wasn’t even aware he was making a face and sighs, though with that growing fondness in his chest that belongs solely to Prompto.

“Indeed,” he huffs and packs up the player in a bag, along with his dancing shoes, trading them out for his usual Oxfords, polished to perfection, as always.

“But yeah,” Prompto manages to wheeze out as Ignis sits to tie his shoes, “even my club dancing is more like wiggling on beat. Last time I danced at a club, I was pretty sure Noct stopped breathing, he was laughing at me so hard. Asshole,” he tacks on with a grin, eyes gleaming in memory.

“I fear Gladio is not much better,” Ignis muses to his laces, chuckling in memory of trying to teach the Shield how to dance. “He has a great sense of beat, but his footwork is far more suited to fighting than dancing.”

“Noct told me about that,” Prompto grins, plopping down on the seat next to him in a tired sprawl. Ignis gives him a look for the graceless move and he gets a shy shrug in answer, the unspoken _oops?_ pulling at that fondness in him again. “Took Gladdy to a club once, and Gladdy just planted his feet and bobbed his head like a goose. At least _I_ know how to move in place and not just bounce.”

“Imagine teaching him waltz,” Ignis says and sits back up with a roll of his shoulders, stretching. Prompto immediately chokes on a laugh.

“Oh man, I am so sorry!” he giggles, covering his mouth. His eyes are crinkled in the corners like little half moons and Ignis can’t help but stare yet again at how unconventionally _lovely_ Prompto is. The fact that he was in a position to accept marrying a stranger without second thought is puzzling. How could it be that Prompto has _no one?_ “Is he all left feet?”

“Worse,” Ignis grimaces in memory of his own poor feet. He’d had a limp for a good week after that. “Gladio is a confidant being. When faced with an obstacle that flusters him, his response is generally anger or straightforward action. Not exactly great when learning delicate steps.”

Prompto winces in sympathy. “I hope I wasn’t that bad,” he murmurs, in a tone Ignis has learned means he maybe believes he _is._

Ignis shakes his head. “No, you have been a fine student,” he tells him truthfully. “Up there with Noctis. Teaching him was a bit of an experience, but you’re both earnest and hardworking when properly motivated. I was not lying when I said you’d be a match for Noctis when the time comes to introduce you in Court.”

Prompto ducks his head, blushing, and his feet tap the floor in sudden nerves. If not for his luminous smile, Ignis would almost think he’d said the wrong thing.

“Thanks, means a lot to hear you say that, Ignis,” Prompto says, more to his lap than to Ignis, but it warms him all the same. “I’ve been trying really hard not to mess this up.”

“And you’ve done just fine,” Ignis assures him before the doubts can creep in, even a little. He reaches over to set his hand over Prompto’s folded tightly in his lap. “More than fine. For taking on so much and given so little time to prepare, you’ve progressed more than I could’ve imagined.”

“Yeah?” Prompto looks at him then, so hesitantly happy that Ignis’ heart clenches at the awareness of the painful truth that must be behind such uncertainty. “So… I’m still in?”

“Of course you are,” Ignis says, wiping that apprehension away with his best, confident look. “As I said our first meeting, it’s up to _you_ if you wish to walk away. I understand what I’m asking of you and I’m grateful you’re still here.”

“Takes more than dancing lessons to scare me off,” Prompto promises with a wide grin, all teeth, and really, that should not be as endearing as it is. “Thanks Ignis. I’m… really doing my best to be the kind of husband you deserve.”

Ignis’ heart does a horrid thing, lurching into his throat, stopping his words. His brain proves traitor as well, stuttering to a halt at the way Prompto is looking at him, so earnest, so determined. He truly means his words.

“You…” is the first word he manages, a bit breathy given it comes on an exhale. He starts again. “You’re already beyond expectations, Prompto,” he says slowly, each word measured carefully lest they betray him too. “You don’t need to change for me. Noctis chose you for me because of who you are. I chose you for the same reason. Deserving doesn’t come into this. I choose you, as you are. I teach you so that you may navigate life in Court with ease, not to change you. You are… a very special kind of person, Prompto. One I do believe I need in my life. Do not hide that away before it has a chance to grow and flourish. That is not what I want.”

Prompto goes as red as the wax Ignis used just that morning on a seal. His mouth opens once, twice, a noise like a sob in his throat that does not match the awe in his face.

Finally, his shoulders rise and he’s back to staring at his hands in his lap, his toes tapping a frantic staccato into the floor. “That… wow. I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”

“Then I shall endeavor to say it more often,” Ignis says, such an easy promise to make.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Prompto is quick to say, sputtering still. Ignis smiles at him.

“I know I don’t. I want to.”

Prompto is back to blushing and looking like he is about to float into the clouds. Ignis wonders if he should be worried about how much his words seem to mean to Prompto already. They’ve reached a happily budding friendship in the knowledge they’ll be partners joined in a common duty, and Ignis would be lying if he said he couldn’t see a bright future with Prompto at his side, a firm light to guide him through even the darkest times. Perhaps a bit early to think such things, but with the way Prompto has immersed so easily into Ignis’ life… perhaps not unfounded, either.

Moreover, he finds he _wants_ such a future. If he must follow duty to such a degree, is it not better to have someone like Prompto at his side? Someone who has already proven to make him smile? Share his convictions? Be so earnest in serving? Ignis could do much worse, he knows. What startles him is that he cannot think of _better._ Not outside of Noctis, at least, but given that has long been labeled for the impossibility it is… the realization settles in his mind like a sunrise.

Has Prompto so easily woven in? And without his notice? Ignis wonders too if he should worry about how Prompto fits in each sharp edge Ignis presents to him, a buffer against every surface, rounding him out. Will it remain, such? Will it only get better?

He finds himself hoping for it, for a day he can look upon Prompto and smile, full-hearted, and say with every inch of his soul that he is proud, proud of this choice, proud of Prompto and this mess of circumstance that flung them together. He wants so much to be proud of this. To be happy. Content.

And perhaps, even beneath such glorious things, there’s something even brighter, softer, more terrifying and wondrous and _new._ That one day he may belong to Prompto in a way he’s never belonged to anyone. That maybe, in a way, he already does.

It’s enough that he’s smiling, even before he realizes he is. His lips have never found the curve so easily. Too easy, all of this. It’s never been so effortless before. He wonders if he can accept it, this something he’s been given without working for it at all. Does he even know how?

“Well, I think a round of ice cream is in order for that awesome dancing,” Prompto’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and Ignis watches him rise, arms stretched over his head, squinting through a yawn. “You wanna join, husband?”

It’s teasing, Ignis knows, but that possessive pull flickers in his heart again, wanting, so greatly, so _painfully,_ to belong.

Ignis just smiles wider, softer, nodding to Prompto’s eager look. “That would be acceptable.”

Prompto cheers and opens the door for him, chattering nonsense that should not be important, but suddenly is, simply because it’s Prompto’s chatter.

And he wonders if maybe being in Prompto’s orbit is something he can get used to, this bright star, this sun, when he has long orbited the moon of his Prince. Prompto is dynamic loudness, flailing gestures and wild happiness; Noctis is sleepy quiet, grim determination and total devotion. Noctis reflects the glory of those around him, their success shining in his eyes. Prompto is his own light, his own sky, a bright courage guiding Ignis onward. To paths unseen and futures unknown, when his path has always been clear, his future set in stone.

For once it is not as daunting as it should be. For once it feels like a worthy challenge. And he welcomes it.

_(Step by step, into the setting sun.)_


	5. exit pursued by a bear

Two days before the wedding finds Prompto in the most expensive piece of clothing he’s perhaps ever seen, let alone worn, inside the Prince’s private tailor shop in the Royal Palace of all places, because this is apparently his life now. It’s a beautiful vest, all things considered, the traditional Lucian black with silver eagles and feathers sewn into the silk brocade in honor of the Scientia House crest, given his own common family - Argentum - has none.

Frankly, he’s slightly appalled House crests are even a  _ thing _ . Maybe it’s sort of awesome that a family can have an animal represent their whole family tree, to be carried on banners and flags and the like, but it’s also rather intimidating, given they’re  _ symbolic  _ not just  _ historic,  _ and Prompto is more than worried he is less than worthy of sporting such a kingly crest.

Noctis, on the other hand, blinking sleepily on his stand beside him, sports the same vest but with roaring lions in silver thread - actual silver, Prompto was shocked to learn, woven in just so the lines caught in every angle of light, making them shine the way a crystal would. Except for the rainbows, of course. But even with all that, even half asleep and bleary eyed, squinting at his reflection while the tailor makes his final adjustments… somehow he manages to look absolutely Royal. And he’s just standing there, breathing. Existing. Prompto maybe wants to punch him.

However, he doubts he even  _ could.  _ Noctis had been smart enough to order a special cut in both the vest and the uniform jacket that goes over it to fit Prompto’s body into the upright and proud stance all nobles seemed to naturally have. Prompto is thankful, he truly is, honestly, but it’s terribly hard to move the way he’s used to and his shoulders are burning in strain just from the two hours they’ve spent here. And it’s just the  _ vest.  _ He can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be in the jacket.

He can’t exactly cry about it, as much as he wants to, and every time he shifts he feels the pins lining the creases of his vest, which means a proper flailing will have to wait. He settles for pouting, a mighty mighty pout, that Noctis immediately smirks at. Because of course his best friend slash best man is gonna be a total  _ asshole  _ about all of this.

“I feel like a monkey in a suit,” he huffs when the tailor moves him so he’s facing Noctis instead of the mirror. He takes advantage of this by upping the pouty glare.

Noctis, the bastard, just keeps on smirking, not even looking his direction as though his reflection is so very interesting. “Funny. You look like one too.”

Prompto’s halfhearted lunge towards him is aborted with a measuring tape to the throat, that tightens as he pulls, making him choke and sputter. Noctis laughs as Prompto gets a scolding look and settles back to standing.

“Asshole,” he mutters, which Noctis looks proud of. Prompto chooses to ignore him for that, at least until he gets bored again, which is about thirty seconds after the fact. “Seriously, never tell me how much this outfit costs. I may cry.”

“More than your apartment,” Noctis says, because he’s a wicked little thing, and checks his phone nonchalantly, probably for the time. It makes him look more tired, given it’s only ten-thirty in the morning on a Saturday, and Prompto knows it’s practically against Noctis’  _ religion  _ to be up before noon on the weekend.

Prompto softens a bit, honestly grateful to the Prince for being here with him. For all Noctis won’t be able to stand with him at the altar like a proper Best Man, it hasn’t stopped Noctis from performing all the other necessary roles to perfection. He’s been a spot of sanity and normalcy Prompto’s needed these past three weeks, and this close to the wedding, Prompto knows he’d be even more of a wreck if Noctis hadn’t promised him a game night as a bachelor party for that evening. Probably not the kind of party Noctis would have liked to throw for him, to be sure, but with Prompto already stirring up the Courts with his common birth, it’s the safer bet.

And it’s something he’s really looking forward to, if he’s honest. Just him and Noct and  _ King’s Knight  _ to occupy them. A last night of absolutely normal where Prompto can pretend he’s not marrying  _ Royalty  _ the coming Monday.

“How’s the fit?” the tailor asks, a kind man that reminds Prompto of the weeping willows gently swaying in the breeze in the park. Prompto gives a nervous smile and pats down his front, not sure what else to do. He’s more than scared to ruin the finery on him, knowing there is no way he can pay it back.

“It… feels good,” Prompto says after a moment, shifting best he can with his shoulders back and his torso forced straight. It somehow still manages to feel natural, for all it’s stiff, and he gives the tailor a nod. “Yeah, good.”

“Very good,” the tailor says and sews in quick stitches under the pins before pulling them free. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, feel free to relax.”

“Thank you,” Noctis says with a respectful nod that Prompto quickly copies with a jerk of his head. He’s still working on bowing under pressure.

When the man is gone, Prompto looks at himself, biting his lip worriedly as his eyes trace over the eagles. He gently touches the silk and the silver thread, fingers trembling a little, and then he’s touching his right wrist, the way he’s always done when his nerves are starting to get the better of him.

“I feel like a dressed up rock,” he mutters, not sure if he’s making sense, but not exactly caring. “You all expect some perfect doll, but you can’t make porcelain out of a rock.”

“Poetic,” Noctis says to that, but he’s frowning, Prompto can see him through the mirror. “No one is expecting you to be perfect. Well… at least no one that matters. I want you to be you, Luna and Gladio want you to be you,  _ Ignis _ wants you to be you. Screw everyone else.”

He’s blushing before he can help it, heart doing a happy little flutter at Ignis’ name he immediately feels guilty about. He quickly glances at Noctis’ reflection, knowing he’s probably caught, but for once luck is on his side and Noctis’ phone is beeping with a message.

Prompto turns to look at him for real, instead of through the mirror, curiously peering best he can at the phone from his stool.

“Fiance or boyfriend?” he asks Noctis with a grin, teasingly light to make Noctis blush. And blush he does, which makes Prompto feel  _ infinitely  _ better.

“Luna,” he murmurs, ears red, and looks at Prompto with a quick side eye, letting Prompto know he’s flustered about being flustered, which is even more golden. “She’s in charge of the flowers… and apparently Insomnia has just run out of lilies?”

“ _ What _ ?” Prompto squeaks, hand tightening around his wrist. “I didn’t mean for you guys to use every lily in Insomnia, like… how even?”

Noctis shrugs, just as hopeless about marriage preparation as he is, and Prompto sighs, scratching his head in through. “Well, uh, daisies are good? Can they mix daisies in? Stretch out the supply of lilies? Seriously, man, I didn’t mean -”

“It’s fine, Prom,” Noctis assures him, though he’s giving him an odd look. Prompto gives it right back.

“What?”

“Nothing just…” Noctis looks back at his phone, smiling like Prompto’s just said something amusing. “Ignis likes daisies.”

And Prompto’s blushing again, just like that. He busies himself by pulling on his wrist cuff and ducking his head to hide his red face. “Oh, is that so?”

“Mmhmm,” he doesn’t have to look to know Noctis is back to smirking. Jerkwad. Prompto resolutely goes back to studying himself in the mirror while he listens to Noctis type out his reply and send it along.

It’s quiet no more than half a minute before Noctis asks, quietly, “Have you told him yet?”

Prompto’s eyes shoot to Noctis’ in the mirror, and the Prince is looking at where Prompto is still clutching at his wrist. Prompto flushes in shame and shakes his head, tugging his shirt sleeve over it. “I… no, it… hasn’t exactly come up.”

Noctis’ expression turns kind. “He won’t care, you know,” he says and reaches back for his phone when it chimes again. Then he’s grinning, eyes alight, and Prompto turns to lean in again, trying to sneak a peak.

“Definitely boyfriend this time,” he finds a laugh and Noctis’ cheeks go rosy. “I knew it. How’s his suit shopping going? Ignis putting him through the ringer?”

“Of course,” Noctis laughs too and shows Prompto the picture on the phone, one of Gladio in a tailored vest just like theirs, only with the wolf insignia that is his family’s crest. He looks distinguished, for all Prompto knows he’s absolutely hating it, and Prompto grins as he reads the caption on the bottom.  _ What do you think? Pass inspection? _

“Your answer to that had better be sufficiently dirty or I will be so disappointed in you,” Prompto snickers and straightens up again as the tailor returns with the suit jacket.

He goes to Prompto first, given Noctis is busy texting and Prompto is closer and a first time customer. He’s heard more than once this morning about how unexpectedly thin he is.

But as the jacket goes over his arms and shoulders and settles, even with all the pins and preliminary seams that don’t  _ quite  _ match, Prompto somehow looks… fuller, he supposes. Larger than he is. But not badly so. The vest is form fitting, showing the slope of his torso, whereas the jacket hangs straight when not buttoned, giving the illusion of a thick frame around a delicate picture. It’s black just as all Lucian nobles wear, with silver tassels hanging off the shoulders the way a general’s uniform would, and silver lining down the front and sides.

“How princely,” the tailor praises and gets to work, letting Prompto properly gape at himself. Or what is supposed to be himself. He does look rather princely, as embarrassing as that is to admit, and reaches for his own phone in his pocket to snap a picture as the tailor quickly shuffles to Noctis.

He hesitates with the picture a moment, wondering if Ignis would appreciate Prompto asking his opinion on it, or if he’d just be annoyed. Would it look like he is desperate for Ignis’ attention? He doesn’t think so, but that doesn’t stop him from worrying.

Of course he knows Ignis won’t send pictures of himself unless Prompto asks, and even that is daunting. It’s not like there is a logical reason Prompto can give the man to send them. He knows nothing about fine suits the way Ignis does. And as much as he’s sure Ignis wouldn’t mind sending a picture simply for Prompto to gush over him, he doesn’t want to annoy his husband to be this close to tying the knot. No need to give Ignis a reason to abandon him…

Ugh, bad train of thought. Retrack.

Prompto bites his lip before opening a new message, attaching the picture and typing a caption:  _ what do you think? Suit me? ;P  _ He sends it before he can properly freak out about it and waits, distractedly rolling his phone in his hands.

He’s learned, to his utter  _ delight,  _ that Ignis is a pun  _ master.  _ He hopes his own are clever enough to at least get Ignis to smile. Ignis has a great smile, to be perfectly fair…

Another bad train. Retrack, re _ track.  _ No good to crush on your spouse to be when they love someone that isn’t you. Prompto breathes this in, even though it’s like fighting a bull. Not that he knows what that’s like but. Whatever. That’s his analogy and he’s sticking to it.

His phone chimes, saving him from his thoughts, and then he’s absolutely  _ grinning _ at the response.

_ Yes,  _ Ignis’ reply states simply, and maybe it’s a little terrifying how he can  _ hear  _ Ignis saying the words,  _ quite suitable, I’d say. _

“I wish you wouldn’t encourage him,” says Noctis with a wrinkled nose, leaning in to peek. Prompto can’t even punch him for it, he’s so elated, and just smirks at his Prince.

“Husband trumps boss, sad to say,” he says. “I’m pulling rank. Puns are the way to my  _ heart.  _ How can I tell him no? He’s so  _ good  _ at them!”

“Why did I think this was a good idea again?” Noctis bemoans his fate and Prompto manages to punch his arm, even though he’s immediately stabbed by at least three needles for the movement. Worth it.

“No take backs, Your Royal Highend,” he cackles and texts back a big happy face to Ignis. “I’m keeping him. You’re just gonna have to suck it up.”

Noctis sighs, dramatic, but there’s a real smile on his face and he looks more than pleased. He keeps the look all through the rest of the fittings, until finally the jackets are taken back and the tailor once again excuses himself to finish the fit. Then Noctis steps down from his stand to grab his bag, rummaging in it for a long white box he hands to Prompto.

“Here,” he says. “And quick, before he comes back.”

Prompto steps down as well, curious as he opens the box. Inside are two finger-less gloves, with half sleeves, black to match his jacket. He gasps when he touches them, amazed at how soft they are, and lets Noctis unbutton his cuffs to roll up his sleeves so he can pull them on.

He starts with the right, hastily removing the sweat cuff for the glove while shooting nervous looks at the curtain the tailor disappeared behind. He’s standing in a way the man probably  _ wouldn’t  _ see the bar code tattooed on his wrist even if he were to come in, but Prompto is taking no chances and quickly covers it up again.

He’s humming happily by the time the second one comes on, and Noctis rebuttons his cuffs for him. Prompto turns his hands this way and that, splaying his fingers and wiggling them, before pulling Noctis into a hug.

“Thank you, they’re amazing,” he murmurs, voice trembling just a bit. Noctis chuckles in answer, hugging him close with a warm clap to his back, then they’re parting with identical grins on their faces, just as the tailor returns.

If the man is surprised by the sudden gloves, he doesn’t say anything, just has them try on the jackets one more time to make sure the final fit, well,  _ suits  _ them. Prompto can’t help but grin through it, finally feeling comfortable in the clothing, even though the fit forces him so straight his back will not be happy later. Just something he’ll have to get used to, he supposes. A small price to pay.

They’ve just given the jackets back when the bell over the shop chimes and the tailor ducks out to greet the customers, though by the look on his face, unexpected ones. Prompto takes no notice of this, too busy working up his courage to ask Ignis for a picture, when he notices Noctis goes stiff just the curtains part and a woman gasps aloud.

“By the Gods you are even more lovely in person!” a short, elderly woman gushes and it takes Prompto a confused second to realize she’s not here to fawn over Noctis, which he’s used to. She’s looking at  _ him. _

“Um,” is all he gets out before she’s in front of him, walking around him, babbling nonstop. She takes his hands at one point, then his face, then giggles and touches her own cheek, utterly delighted with him.

And Prompto is… so lost. He’s never seen her before and so looks to Noctis for help. But the prince himself looks torn between amusement and something a lot like fear in his eyes, which has Prompto on edge instantly.

“Oh, good heavens, you really are a sunshine boy!” the woman says before taking Prompto’s hands again. “Prompto right? Such a charming name!”

“Yes ma’am,” Prompto falls back on the manners Ignis’ has drilled into him. “Forgive me, I fear I do not… know you?”

“Oh!” she gasps, then laughs at herself. “Forgive me, dear boy, I’m Ignis’ grandmother!”

Prompto feels his face go positively numb as all the blood rushes to his feet. He bows quickly. “Your Ladyship.”

“I see my grandson has taught you the manners of the court, very good, very good,” she pats his hand to urge him to straighten once again. “But, please, save the titles for the Courts? When it’s just friends and family, I’m simply Cordelia. Or grandma,” she adds, hopeful, and cheerfully squeezes his fingers.

“I’ve… never had a grandma before,” Prompto admits, instantly smitten. “Lady Cordelia.”

“You charmer!” she pats his cheek, gushing some more, before turning the same affection onto Noctis, who looks relieved, but only a little. Prompto hardly understands the tenseness in his shoulders before the sound of someone clearing their throat catches his attention and he turns back to the curtain.

Standing there is possibly the most elegant woman he’s ever seen. She’s tall, pale, like she’s been carved from the finest marble. Her black dress shimmers in the light like a thousand diamonds are laced in the fabric, and for a startling moment, Prompto could even believe that there are.

“Prompto Argentum, I presume?” she says, coolly, and offers her hand to him, not to shake, oh no, but to kiss, and Prompto doesn’t even need to see the signet ring of an eagle on her finger to know who this woman is.

Heart beating too loudly in his ears, he bends his head in deference to her and does as bid, doing his best not to shake apart at her feet.

 “My Lady Scientia,” he whispers, “it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

_ (Hopefully not for the last time.) _


End file.
